


demon to lean on

by thedrugdealingshark



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedrugdealingshark/pseuds/thedrugdealingshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you live a life that is just day bleeding into the next day, week bleeding into the next week, month bleeding into the next month, you find yourself searching for ways to pass the time. </p>
<p>Some people turn to alcohol. </p>
<p>Some people turn to drugs. </p>
<p>It’s their resolutions, their answers. </p>
<p>For Dean, Bray Wyatt was his resolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	demon to lean on

When you live a life that is just day bleeding into the next day, week bleeding into the next week, month bleeding into the next month, you find yourself searching for ways to pass the time.

Some people turn to alcohol.

Some people turn to drugs.

It’s their resolutions, their answers.

Dean was familiar with those concepts, he’d tried them when life had gotten boring and dull, as it often did. After a while, they turned out to be just as boring as life itself. After a while, after several attempted resolutions, the real relief practically found its way to him.

For Dean, Bray Wyatt was his resolution.

Being with Bray is a whole new experience on it’s own, kisses aren’t kisses anymore, sex isn’t sex anymore. Nothing is nothing. He can’t tell if Bray’s trying to build him up or break him down.

And to think, Dean used to be so fucking good at reading people. They were predictive, disgusting, ignorant insects.

Bray is unpredictable; Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking. Maybe that’s part of why he keeps Bray around. He likes unpredictable people.

If asked, Dean couldn’t tell you when or how any of this happened. He just knows that it did, and he doesn’t regret it yet. Maybe he never will.

Any night and every night, Dean’s with Bray, in some form or fashion, Bray never leaves. Pulling him aside after a match, jerking him out of his locker room, and they go back to the hotel.

And Bray fucks him like it’s the most essential thing in the world. Like the Earth’s supply of oxygen won’t be enough to breathe in, like there’s a ticking time bomb that only allows them so much time together.

Dean hasn’t booked his own hotel room in months.

Being with Bray is like slow dancing in the calm of a storm.

The eye of a tornado. The destruction’s already happened, but there’s this eerie stillness in the air that lets you know more is coming.

Dean’s phone vibrates somewhere on the floor, lost in the mass of discarded clothes. He’s too far away to notice.

It’s probably Roman; he’s the only one who ever really tries to communicate with Dean anymore. Except Bray, but Bray doesn’t own a phone, and Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t even know how to work one. Technology isn’t really Bray’s forte. Oil and water.

Roman doesn’t know that Dean’s with Bray: since it’s the early stages of their relationship, Dean’s still using his over-exploited excuses. He doesn’t remember what lie he’d given him this time.

Lie after lie after lie. He’s no better than Seth at this point. But, who fucking cares?

Any morals Dean possessed are now long gone. If he had any at all in the first place.

By sunrise, Dean’s seated on the toilet of Bray’s hotel room (basically _theirs_ at this point), Bray crouched down in front of him, in between his legs. He’s helping Dean shave.

The cheap razor glides through shaving cream easily, and Dean lifts his head to grant Bray better access. Bray’s hands are steady, the one not holding the razor is placed on the back of Dean’s head, holding him still.

Bray’s gaze is on Dean’s face, unwavering, as if he’s trying to take in every detail. It’s not the first time he’s looked at him like that. Dean stares at the outdated bathroom wallpaper and pretends not to notice.

Being with Bray is like a steady heartbeat, until it wavers off into tranquility.

You always kill the one you love.

For years, that was a motto Dean lived by, it was something he was familiar with. He didn’t love to protect those around him.

But, there’s no killing Bray, and Dean doesn’t necessarily love him.

Or maybe he doesn’t love him because he hasn’t figured out how to kill him yet.

Bray had told him long ago that there was a million different ways to tell someone you loved them, you’d just have to listen. After that, Dean never stopped listening.

When Roman finds out, it’s hard for him to keep the disgust off his face. His features contort into this sort of disappointment that Dean can still sometimes see at night when he closes his eyes.

“Do you love him?” was the first thing that Roman said to him after that.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, because he knows that if he says no, Roman won’t believe him. He probably wouldn’t believe himself either. “at this point, anything’s possible.”

After that, Roman doesn’t bother asking Dean where he disappears to at night. He’s given up on him, just like Seth had. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe they were never meant to run in the same circle after all.

You can’t be selfish with happiness, you can only have one.

Dean’s not even surprised when he chooses Bray.

Being with Bray is like a slap to the face, like plunging into icy waters.

Maybe Dean’s found his center.

The tranquility of crashing waves.

Punch after punch, hit after hit, blow after blow of just the same repetitive moves that seem new each time around.

It cant be predicted or described, only the feeling is the same. The shame comes later, too insignificant to be noticed or cared about.

Once the sinful high has warn off, Dean wants to experience the feeling all over again.

Bray fucks him like he wants to rip apart his soul, destroy his entire being, bit by bit, peice by peice. Maybe he already has.

Like ripping out your veins and using them to sew yourself back together again.

Demolition then reincarnation.

Destruction then rebirth.

The same broken record that Dean never gets tired of hearing. The same song but with a new melody. The same experience but with a new meaning, a new feeling.

He’s given up on trying to be right anymore.

Dean's on the bed in some hotel room in some city in some state. His head dangles off the foot of the bed, his shirt is pulled up to his neck, his mouth is hanging open and he's gasping for breath.

He can't form words anymore, the only sound coming out of his mouth that's not a strangled moan is the airy whimpering of unintelligible sounds. His wrists are restrained down onto the mattress, Bray looming over him, just pounding into him like he's trying to break him in half.

Bray's saying something in tongues, Dean can't even begin to comprehend what it means. It's a nice sound in the background until the volume gets turned up, by either Bray or his own mind, and it's all he can hear.

The words are placid and graceful, like skating on smooth ice, and if Dean would have been able to do anything in this moment he would have found them comforting.

That's only one thing about Bray, one thing out of a million, is that he's always fucking talking.

Talking, talking, talking, a sound that goes on for days. A sound that Dean always listens to, whether he enjoys it or not.

Sometimes, when Bray's not around, Dean can still hear his voice in his head, like he's permanently branded himself inside of Dean's skull.

By the end of the night, Dean goes to sleep with his limbs feeling numb. When he wakes up that morning, they feel broken.

Dean manages to slip away easily enough. He pulls on his clothes and when he goes to leave, Bray kisses him at the door.

As if they were husband and wife and not a entirely new definition to the word sin.

He doesn’t even notice he’d thrown on Bray’s Hawaiian shirt by accident until he gets in his rental.

Another night is spent with Bray: gasping over Bray, writhing and grinding mercilessly into Bray.

Bray takes Dean apart thrust by thrust, touch by touch, and by morning, he’s put back together. Haphazardly.

Life becomes a pattern and Dean’s comfortable with that.

He wakes, he fights, he fucks, he sleeps.

Roman has been replaced by Bray. The cold, empty space on the side of his bed is replaced by Bray. Dean’s comfortable with that.

It’s night again, Dean stares up at the ceiling of some hotel room, in some city, in some state. Bray lies besides him, silent and content. Dean thinks he might be asleep.

He lets his eyes shift over and - no, Bray’s still awake. Dean’s eyes meet with Bray’s. Neutral. Indifferent.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Dean says for no reason at all. His voice is nothing more than a groggy little rasp of words that fill the room for only a matter of seconds.

A weaker individual latching onto a stronger one. Dean is rubble and Bray has to build him up into Fort Knox.

“The lifelong tragedy,” Bray smiles, and his eyes smile with him. Happy little half moons. "When one soul says to another soul, 'I love you,', and the other soul says, 'I love you too.'"

Dean remembers back to how Bray had told him that people have different ways of declaring their love for you without really saying it.

Get some sleep.

Be careful.

Good luck.

Being with Bray is like a car crash, chaos then serenity.

Dean drifts into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

Bray kisses his eyelids when he sleeps.

Felicitous. Peaceful.

Happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to thank you guys for all the support and such, especially on the bray/dean series fic. I really, really appreciate it.


End file.
